


Walking in the Dark

by Aussie_Muggle



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: (I like him but it just keeps happening), Alternate Universe, Gen, ily Reese, jessica lives because I said so, ships to be announced, the author fridges John again, the woman in the suit au, updates will be like flying pigs but I will try
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 13:49:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aussie_Muggle/pseuds/Aussie_Muggle
Summary: Redemption is a relative term. Kara escapes Ordos (and avoids Greer), and finds herself in the company of a billionaire with a guilt complex, a corrupt cop with a heart, the love of John Reese's life, and a detective on a mission. Things change.





	1. In which Kara and John talk.

**Author's Note:**

> Kara is hard to write. She's genuinely horrible but she still has humanising moments. Usually followed by more horribleness. I hope I do her justice. If I don't, yell at me in the review section.

Kara watched the city below burn and wondered how the United States managed to fire a missile on Chinese soil without causing an international incident. Maybe it was a joint operation. Maybe they told the Chinese some lie. It was warm now, at least.

“Jessica...”

John sounded even raspier than usual. He had to pause, force air into failing lungs, before he speaking. Kara waited patiently. She owed him this much, she supposed.

“She called me,” he said finally, slurring through his words. “She's'n trouble.”

Kara glanced down at him. He looked less pale in the glow, but not by much. 

“I'll check on her,” she muttered.

John smiled at her. Not the careless, charming smirk of your garden variety, government hired sociopath, but something warm and genuine that they usually beat out of you at Langley.

“Thanks,” he said softly.

He wasn't angry with her. For once she wanted him to rage and curse or do something other than _smile like an idiot._

But he'd never been one for that. 

“Anything you want me to say to Mark before I kill him?” she asked sharply.

“No,” said John with a hint of bitterness. “Have fun.”

That was something at least. A half-assed attempt at anger.

Maybe Mark Snow wasn't worth wasting his last thoughts on. John seemed more interested in the view.

“S'nice,” he murmured. “Pretty...”

“I guess,” said Kara.

She was never one for admiring the scenery, but if you were going to be buried in a nameless grave, there were worse places. The hill overlooked the raging inferno that had once been Ordos, but on the other side was woodlands. A small frozen creek. A sliver of daylight could just be made out on the horizon. 

John didn't say anything else. Kara picked up the shovel. 

 

*

 

Greer didn't spare his first lieutenant so much as a glance as he entered the room.

“Any sign of them, Mr Lambert?” he asked, his eyes fixed on the matte black laptop in his hands.

“I'm afraid not, sir,” said Lambert. “It appears the CIA were successful in their endeavour.”

“ _Tsk._ Such a waste.”

Lambert agreed. They had a small army of foot soldiers, but Stanton and Reese were worth a dozen pawns apiece. Reese's cold, efficient brutality and Stanton's calculated viciousness were something that couldn't be taught.

Greer didn't seem  _terribly_  concerned. His attention was on treasure in his hands.

“Did the MSS make anything of the laptop?” asked Lambert.

Greer scoffed.

“They barely had time to scratch the surface,” he said dismissively. “They would have squandered it. They're no different than the rest of their ilk.”

“What did our agents make of it?”

 _That_ earned Lambert a smile.

“Behold, Mr Lambert. The keys to Tartarus.”


	2. In Which Harold is Unintentionally Creepy, Kara is Violent, and Jessica Catches a Break

  
Kara's sweater was itchy.

The outfit she had stolen was _fuzzy_. With little blue flowers sewn into it. She had long since learned that combat boots and leather jackets didn't quite project ‘harmless bystander’, but she was beginning to think that the sweater was excessive.

This wasn’t going to take long. She was going to check on Jessica Arndt, and then she was going to find Mark. Exercise some creativity. Give him a bullet wound to match John when she was finished.

It would be over faster if the bookish, well-dressed man in front of her would hurry up and get whatever it was he wanted from the triage nurse.

“Good afternoon,” said the man brightly. “I was wondering if Jessica Arndt was in today.”

Or not.

Kara pretended to check her phone while she stood back and listened.

“I'm afraid she called in sick this week,” said the nurse.

That pleasant smile faltered. He seemed calm enough, but the way his hand clenched on the armrests of his wheelchair told a different story.

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“Peter said it was just a bad cold,” said the nurse reassuringly. “May I ask what this is about?”

“My name is Harold Drake.” The pleasant smile was back and genuine enough that the nurse didn’t catch the boldfaced lie. “I'm an old family friend. I was really hoping to see her before I head out of state.”

“I can leave her a message, if you’d like,” offered that nurse.

“That won’t be necessary,” said Harold. “I’ll give her a call myself. Thank you.”

It was easy enough to identify the nameless threat plaguing John’s girlfriend. Kara stepped forward. Harold turned his wheel chair straight into her path and froze when he caught sight of her. An expression very familiar to Kara crossed his features. _Fear_ , and more alarmingly, _recognition_.

Still, Kara smiled and leaned in.

“You and I need to talk, _Harold_ ,” she whispered into his ear. “This way.”

She gestured to the door down the hall. Harold turned pale.

“That’s a stairwell,” he said, his voice strained.

“Nice and private, isn’t it?”

Harold steeled himself and followed her. Kara held the door open for him, and slowly closed it behind her. Usually that was what John did. Slowly cut off the exit, leaving Kara free to threaten someone. Or kill them.

“What do you want with Jessica Arndt?” she asked, getting straight to the point. “And don't give me the long-lost family friend crap.”

Harold glanced at the flight of stairs he was now dangerously close to.

“She's in grave danger,” he said a little loudly.

Grave danger seemed like an exaggeration for someone with Jessica Arndt’s cushy, civilian life. It sounded like a lie coming from a man who lied about his real name.

“And you know this how?” asked Kara.

“I… I have a reliable source,” he said after a pause.

Vague and unhelpful. Kara took a threatening step towards him.

“I get it,” she said. “Did the nice lady look after you for five minutes? Do you have a little crush?”

It took a moment for her words to even register and a few more for Harold to do anything but stutter incoherently.

“N-No,” he blurted. “You have got _entirely_ the wrong idea.”

“Did you decide her husband isn't good enough for her? You want to take matters into your own hands?”

Harold paused.

“ _Technically_ -”

Kara took another step forward. Harold took in a sharp breath.

“How many flights of stairs do I have push you down before stop stalking her?” she snarled.

“I'm not stalking anyone,” said Harold. “I did acquire her address through... admittedly questionable methods… but my intentions towards Jessica are entirely altruistic.”

Kara frowned.

“This is not a low point for me,” she said finally. “I could go five flights of stairs before I start feeling a little guilty. Explain yourself. Now.”

Harold began talking very quickly and a little louder than before.

“Peter Arndt is abusive,” he said, with only the slightest tremor. “I'm just trying to help her.”

She wouldn’t have thought Arndt had it in him. But the mousy little bookworm didn't look like much of a serial killer.

“How do you know that?” asked Kara.

Harold pursed his lips but didn’t break eye contact.

“As I said, I have a reliable source.”

Kara just about had enough of this slippery little bastard.

“It wouldn't happen to be Mark, now would it?” she asked coldly.

Harold swallowed.

“I'm not acquainted with Agent Snow.”

Kara hauled him out of the chair by the lapels of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. Harold yelped in pain. Apparently, the chair wasn't just for show.

“I didn't tell you Mark's last name,” she whispered.

“I'm not w-working for Agent Snow! Please, Miss Stanton-”

“Or mine,” snarled Kara. “Who do you work for?”

“ _No one!_ ”

“Bullshit.”

“I just want to help!”

Kara tightened her grip. Harold got the message and started speaking rapidly.

“I-I’m good with computers. There was a threat against, Mrs Arndt. The first person I checked was her former boyfriend. Your name came up.”

“Seriously?” said Kara incredulously. “That’s the explanation you’re going with? Why are you even helping her in the first place?”

“Call it a debt,” said Harold through gritted teeth.  
  
A debt. She could understand a debt. Kara hesitated, before dropping him back into his chair.

“Where are you even getting your information from?” she asked again.

“You can interrogate me later,” Harold said with more frustration than fear. “My source is never wrong. Jessica needs help _now._ ”

He was a stubborn bastard, but he seemed like an earnest one. Reese had always better at reading people than she was.

“If you're lying to me...” she said, her voice low and threatening. 

“Several flights stairs,” said Harold stiffly. “Understood.”

He slowly adjusted himself in his chair, trying not to wince.

“Are you hurt?” asked Kara dispassionately. If the idiot hadn’t been so cagey, he could have avoided this.

Harold gave her a humourless smile.

“I've had worse,” he said nonchalantly, fixing his tie.

“Hand over the address, Harold.”

“That’s unnecessary,” said Harold firmly. “I’ll drive.”

Kara let out a harsh laugh. She was somewhere in between impressed and irritated with his bravado.

“Not a chance.”

“Mrs Arndt is likely quite terrified,” said Harold. “Your bedside manner leaves something to be desired.”

That comment was fair. She had just threatened to push a wheelchair bound man down the stairs. In a hospital.

“And I’m just supposed to trust you?”

“Surely you’d prefer me to be within maiming distance should Agent Snow send a legion of sycophantic killers to ambush you?” asked Harold dryly.

That wasn’t the response she was expecting. Kara managed not to smile and open the door for him.

“I’ll sit shotgun,” she said. “Pun intended.”

Harold muttered darkly under his breath about her being armed with a handgun, but headed out.

*

New Rochelle was painfully suburban. Big houses, neat gardens, and nothing with too much character. Harold pulled out in front of a white house with heritage features, its only distinguishing feature was a somewhat neglected front lawn.

“Wait here,” said Kara.

She half expected Harold to protest, citing her bedside manner, but he only smiled blithely.

“Try not kill anyone.”

A sharp response was on the tip of her tongue, but Kara said nothing. The back and forth banter was something she’d done with John Reese, not this prissy civilian. She wordlessly headed to the front door and knocked.

Peter Arndt was just as boring as she remembered. Not terribly handsome. Not terribly interesting. Not particularly smart.

The bruised knuckles were new.

“Hi,” said Kara, a cheerful, fake grin she had perfected over the years plastered on her face. “Peter, right?”

“Yeah,” he said with the same cold charm Kara had seen in Agent after Agent. “You a friend of Jessica’s?”

Apparently he didn't recognise her from the bar all those years ago.

“From college,” said Kara brightly. “I was in the neighbourhood and was hoping I could say hello.”

“I’m afraid Jessica isn't up to visitors right now. She's not well.”

Kara gave a mock look of disappointment and hit Arndt so hard in the face that he slammed into the wall behind him. She looked back at Harold, expecting some disapproval, but the older man didn’t seem too upset. She took that as an invitation to enter the house.

She found Jessica in an upstairs bedroom, under a blanket and shivering from something other than cold. John’s girl froze when she saw Kara, a deer in the headlights. Her wrist was broken and so was her leg, judging from the crutches in the corner. Her eye socket was blackened.

Kara remembered what she had said to John during that brief trip back to New York.

_His name is Peter. Thirty seven. He makes a hundred and seventy five thousand a year. Is he a good guy or a serial killer? I don't know. But either way, he'll take better care of her than you could._

She had seen John cut off a man’s fingers with with a dull, rusty blade, his eyes cold and unforgiving. But he looked at Jessica as though she was something high above him. Something precious.

It was just as well Kara had killed John. He would have torn Arndt apart and frightened his girlfriend off.

Speaking of which, Jessica was giving her a look of utter terror. The anger must shown on her face. Harold’s quip about bedside manner came to mind.

“It’s okay,” said Kara, attempting to look vaguely benevolent. “I’m a friend.”

“Who are you?” said Jessica faintly. “Where's Peter?”

“He's busy bleeding on the carpet,” she said briefly forgetting to sound nonthreatening. “My name is Kara. John sent me.”

Jessica struggled to her feet immediately.

“Is John alright?”

Kara hadn’t expected it. She hadn’t expected the battered woman to take the time to care about the well-being of a killer. Especially not one who had dumped her.

“No,” she said finally. “I’m sorry.”

Jessica’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Kara was filled with the sudden urge to hit something. To give Peter, Mark, _anyone_ , a piece of her mind.

“He told me to wait for him,” whispered Jessica and Kara clenched her fist.

“I’ll help you pack a bag,” muttered Kara. “Let’s get you out of here.”

*

Jessica packed efficiently, like someone who had rehearsed this moment a thousand times in her head. By the time they’d finished and headed back downstairs, Arndt was groaning awake, his nose dripping with blood. Jessica flinched at the sight of him.

Kara, put down the bags she was carrying, calmly when to the fireplace and picked up a poker. One with a nice, sharp edge.

“Tell me when you want me to stop,” she said to Jessica with a smile.

She had made it to Arndt, makeshift weapon raised, before-

“ _No_.”

Kara gave Jessica a very flat look over her shoulder. Jessica looked shaken but determined.

“Seriously?” 

“I…I don’t want this.”

“If John was here, your dear husband would spend the rest of his life breathing through a tube,” said Kara, biting back contempt. “If he continued breathing at all.”

Jessica shook her head. She didn't believe her, Kara realised. Jessica knew John Tallis the soldier. She had never met Reese the monster.

“I just want to go,” said Jessica stiffly.

“Fine,” said Kara with a grimace. “But a point needs to be made.”

Arndt struggled to his feet, groggy but aware enough to notice his wife with a packed bag.

“Jessica-”

Kara swung the poker close enough to Arndt’s head to get him to stop talking.

“Keep your mouth shut or I’ll close it permanently.”

Arndt was completely awake now, but wisely staying silent. She traced his jaw with the poker and he flinched. Coward.

“Consider this the beginning of divorce proceedings,” said Kara evenly. “If you so much as look at her ever again, I’ll gouge out an eye. You can pick which one. Understood?”

Arndt tried to look at Jessica but she refused to acknowledge them. He mustered up a little fury (no doubt at being threatened by a woman) but nodded all the same. Kara tossed the poker aside, picked up Jessica's bags and gestured to the door.

“Shall we?”

Jessica headed out as fast as she could manage, without so much as glancing at her husband. She stiffened at the sight of Harold by the car.

“He's a friend,” said Kara reassuringly, tossing the bags into the trunk. “I think.”

“My name is Harold, Mrs Arndt,” he said, keeping his hands in full view, his movement slow and his voice soft. “May I?”

He limped to the door, hiding what Kara suspected was severe pain, and held it open for her. Jessica relaxed.

“Jessica is fine,” she said, accepting his hand to help her in. “But thank you.”

Harold started the car as soon as Kara sat down, eager to put as much distance between them and Peter Arndt as possible.

“Hotel or mother's place?” he asked.

Jessica’s mouth twitched slightly.

“Hotel,” she said.

Harold nodded, not pressing the matter.

“I've booked a room at the Plaza. It's yours for a month,” he said. “Longer, if you wish.”

Jessica looked up sharply.

“No, I couldn't possibly-”

“I insist,” said Harold firmly but gently.

A strange look crossed Jessica’s features

“Did you know John too?” she asked.

Harold hesitated, ignoring the look Kara sent his way.

“Only by reputation, I'm afraid,” he said finally.

“Then why are you doing this?”

Harold's fists clenched on the steering wheel.

“Call it an inadequate apology for not acting sooner,” he said quietly.

“Don't worry about it,” said Jessica softly. “You're here now.”

Her words only made Harold even guiltier, but he managed a nod. Kara was hoping Harold would keep her occupied, but she could see Jessica looking at her through the rear-view mirror.

“Kara?” she said hesitantly. “Were you... with him? John?”

“Yes.”

“How did he die?”

_Murdered by his partner. Forgotten by the country he bled for. Betrayed by the people he sacrificed everything for. In a foreign country, with only his killer to hold vigil._  
  
“With a smile on his face after doing something stupidly heroic,” said Kara.

That was the truth. That was all Jessica needed to know. She teared up again, but this time there was small smile on her face.

“Sounds like him,” said Jessica softly, and Kara felt an unfamiliar weight in the pit of her stomach.

The silence hung heavily in the car until they rolled up to the hotel. Kara grabbed the bags and helped Jessica out of the car before Harold could hurt himself. _Masochistic idiot._ Harold made his way over slowly, pulled a card a small card from his pocket and held it out to her, unable to meet her eye.

“The number of a rather excellent divorce attorney who owes me a favour,” muttered Harold.

Kara snatched the card from Harold before he could hand it over and scribbled the number of her burner on the back.

“In case you need more direct help,” she muttered.

Jessica took the card and gave her a sudden, one armed hug. Kara managed to pat her awkwardly on the back. She waited with Harold until Jessica was inside, the busboy rushing to help her with the bags. She vanished with one last watery smile, and Kara let out a breath.

_There, John. She’s safe. We’re even._

Kara turned her attention to the unknown beside her.

“Now what?” she asked.

Harold seemed to be studying her intently, fear forgotten. Which made Kara irrationally angry.

“You handled that well,” he said. _Condescending prick._

“I’m a trained operative,” said Kara. “Calling Arndt a cockroach is disrespectful to cockroaches.”

Harold tilted his head.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. Which made Kara even more frustrated.

“How did you know Jessica was in trouble?” she asked tersely. “And how did you know about me?”

Harold’s expression turned from contemplative to determined.

“Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere more secure.”

 


End file.
